


100 Weeks

by stjarna



Series: Right Things Wrong [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 'Cause it's my 100th fic, 'Cause of course some bus kids, A brief return of Pygmy Puff and Darwin, And it had to be fluffy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Did I mention fluff?, Domestic!Fitzsimmons, F/M, First chapter is angst mixed with fluff, Fluff and Angst, Follow-up to Right Things Wrong (which was my coda fic for 4x15), Gen, It's basically a bunch of my Domestic!Fitzsimmons headcanons rolled into one fic, Light Angst, Some bus kids, Then it's just getting fluffier and fluffier, You could even call it schmoop towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: (aka the one where I force 100 into the title and storyline because it’s my 100th fic)(Mainly) Fluffy follow-up toRight Things Wrong(my coda fic for 4x14 / speculative fic for 4x15, which got certain aspects of 4x15 right, but brings the LMD and Framework storylines to a fluffy close.)I strongly suggest you read "Right Things Wrong" first 'cause this does have quite a few references to it.





	1. 26 weeks after “Right Things Wrong”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Popsicle86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Popsicle86/gifts), [Lilsciencequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/gifts).



> Thanks go to Popsicle86 who suggested a follow-up to "Right Things Wrong" for my 100th fic and to AgentsofSuperwholocked who suggested to finally write (one of) my Fitzsimmons marriage headcanons down.
> 
> Thanks also go to TashxTARDIS for the beta.

It had been six months since the LMDs had infiltrated the base. Six months since Fitz had given himself up so that he would be placed into the Framework.

It had been six months since Jemma had watched teary-eyed as Fitz held their perfect baby daughter in their perfect Perthshire cottage in the perfect world AIDA had created for him. It had been six months since Jemma had wished—just for a moment—to live in that fantasy world with him.

It had been six months since Jemma and Daisy had managed to establish a connection with Fitz in the Framework. Six months since they had worked together to free him and the others.

It had been six months since Jemma had apologized to Fitz for taking his perfect dream away from him. Six months since Fitz had told her that what he had seen wasn’t a dream, but their future; a future he said he knew they would have eventually.

It had been six months since they had vowed to marry each other. Six months since in the quiet of their room, holding each other close, they had started making plans for a date, a venue, a guest list, their future.

* * *

It had been six months since a Scottish stranger had rung her doorbell and told her that it wasn’t real, her life, her house, her husband, her belly stretched and large. He had told her and she had believed him. She had known. Somehow she’d always known.

It had been six months since May had left the Framework. Six months since she’d left a perfect world behind. Six months since the girl she had saved in Bahrain once again became a ghost that haunted her.

She knew it was the right choice. She didn’t want her life to be a lie, no matter how beautiful that lie had been.

But it had taken her time, a _lot_ of time to find herself again, to get to terms with who she was, who she had been, what was real, what was a dream.

It had taken her time. It was taking her time. But she was getting there.

* * *

May watches the two scientists leave Coulson’s office. They had remained calm, professional, but their faces had drained of all color and Simmons’ eyes had filled with tears while Fitz had clenched his jaw as Coulson had briefed them all about the mission, about _who_ would be involved, who _had to_ be involved, about the dangers.

May watches as Simmons grabs Fitz’s hand with both of hers, pulling herself as close to her fiancé as possible. Their heads hang low as they disappear through the door and into the corridor.

May’s gaze wanders to the floor and she crosses her arms in front of her chest.

She waits.

Patiently.

Until Daisy, Elena, and Mack leave the room as well.

Then she looks up at Coulson, who’s stowing away his tablet in the top drawer of his desk.

“I need a quinjet,” May says matter-of-factly once Coulson looks at her.

“Know anything about this mission I don’t?” Coulson asks.

“Their wedding is in two weeks, Phil.” May walks over to his desk and makes sure to hold his gaze. “Their wedding is in two weeks and forty-eight hours from now you’ll be sending the groom and maid of honor on a mission that—”

“Don’t you think I _know_ that?” Coulson gestures at himself. “Don’t you think I would have made a different choice if I _could_?”

“I _know_ you need Fitz on this mission. I _know_ you have no choice. And he does too.” May leans on the desk with both hands. “Just give me a quinjet.”

“What’s your plan?” Coulson crosses his arms in front of his chest and squints his eyes.

“They deserve to take that step, Phil.” May forces her voice to remain calm, fixing her eyes on his.

Coulson holds her gaze. He inhales slowly, his eyes wandering to the floor.

“I need certain people here to prepare for the mission,” he says calmly.

The corner of May’s mouth twitches briefly. “There are only two people I need.”

He sighs and nods silently. “But forty-eight hours—”

“I know,” May interrupts him.

They exchange silent nods of agreement, before May turns around to head to the door.

Then she stops.

“One more thing, Phil.”

* * *

She finds them still in the hallway just a little down from Coulson’s office.

They’re standing close together, two hands intertwined, while Fitz is tucking a strand of Simmons’ hair behind her ear. They’re talking quietly and May notices the thin shimmering trails of tears on Simmons’ cheeks. Their eyes are locked onto each other. They’re in a world of their own. Trying to build a protective bubble around themselves that was bound to burst no later than forty-eight hours from now.

May takes a deep breath and walks down the hallway.

“You two. Come with me!” She’s sure to say it loud enough to get Fitzsimmons attention.

May takes another few steps but stops and turns around when she doesn’t hear them following.

“Agent May?” Simmons asks wide-eyed.

“What part of ‘come with me’ did you not understand?” May crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Is this in preparation for the mission? ‘Cause Coulson didn’t—” Fitz tries to chime in.

“Get moving,” May barks and turns around, continuing to stride down the hallway. “It’s classified.”

She listens for the nervous footsteps following her while the corners of her mouth quirk into a mischievous smile. “You’ll get the details soon enough.”

* * *

The sun shines brightly on the horizon. Even with her aviators, it’s almost blinding. When the skyline comes into view in the distance, May peeks out of the cockpit to the back.

Luckily, the two scientists had sat down right in her line of sight. Their hands have built a little stack and their heads are leaning against each other.

Part of May feels bad about not giving them any details before they left. But it was better this way.

“Okay, get in here,” she calls loudly to the back. “Time to fill you in.”

May turns to face the windshields and smiles when she hears Fitzsimmons’ footsteps approaching the cockpit.

She looks over her shoulder at the two scientists who stare at her, deer-in-headlight look.

“We’re headed to Las Vegas,” May explains matter-of-factly. “Will be landing in five.”

“So, what exactly is the mission then?” Simmons asks. “Are we to retrieve something? Is there a biohazard? A device to be disabled?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you didn’t exactly give us time to pack equipment, tools, or _anything_ ,” Fitz chimes in.

May rolls her eyes. Those kids were far too focused on the job. “When you hear hoofbeats, think of horses not zebras.”

“Excuse me?” Simmons wrinkles her forehead, while Fitz mutters a quiet “Huh?”

May sighs and shakes her head. “What’s Vegas known for?”

The scientists look at her in confusion.

“Gambling?”

“Try again?”

“Legalized prostitution.”  
  
“Oh for crying out loud. That’s not even true for the city itself. I give you one more try.”

May looks over her shoulder and sees Simmons’ eyes widen in shock, her mouth slightly ajar.

“Oh!” she mutters quietly.

“What?” Fitz’s brows are still furrowed in confusion.

Simmons turns to him and shrugs her shoulders. “Wedding chapels.”

The wrinkles on Fitz’s forehead disappear; partly due to relief, partly due to shock if May had to guess.

“Agent May?” he asks barely above a whisper.

May exhales sharply, focusing her eyes on Fitz. “Look. In forty-eight hours _you_ , Daisy, and I will be headed for a mission where the odds are _definitely_ not in our favor. And we _all_ know that if Coulson had a choice, he’d send _anyone_ but you, Fitz. But he _doesn’t_.”

May notices Fitz’s jaw clenching, his gaze dropping to the floor, while Simmons next to him is blinking away tears, her hand once again feverishly reaching for his.

“What you have planned two weeks from now… you deserve that. You two _deserve_ to take that step.” May waits until the two scientists slowly raise their eyes to meet hers. “Now, I sure as hell will do _everything_ in my power to beat the odds and bring Fitz back to you, Simmons, so that you can have that dream wedding in Scotland. But at the same time, I sure as hell won’t let Fitz go on that mission without you two taking that step _now_. You deserve that step! That’s why we’re here.”

“Agent May—”

“Buckle up, we’re landing.” May turns to face the front, taking a slow breath to calm her racing heart.

“We’ll need _two_ witnesses.” Simmons’ voice is barely above a whisper.

“Don’t worry about that,” May replies, one corner of her mouth quirking up. “I said ‘buckle up.’”

* * *

May lands the jet in a secluded spot outside the city. Coulson had done a good job of finding a suitable landing spot and rendezvous point.

The ramp of the quinjet slowly lowers, and May can’t help but smile, when she sees Fitzsimmons eyes widen in shock, their mouths ajar.

“About bloody time! We’ve been waiting here for half an hour. Any idea what that means for fugitives on the run?” Hunter’s sitting on the hood of a rusty old sedan, his back against the windshield.

“That you’re missing M*A*S*H reruns in the little townhouse you’ve been staying at for the past ten months?” May grins mischievously as she struts down the ramp.

Bobbi pushes herself off from where she had been leaning against the car and walks slowly towards May and Fitzsimmons, whose feet seem to be moving in slow-motion. “So, invitation to the big shindig got lost in the mail?”

“W-we… we didn’t know—” Simmons’ voice is flustered and anxious.

“Relax, Jemma.” Bobbi pulls Simmons and Fitz into a brief hug. “ _Of course_ you didn’t know. _Nobody_ knows.” She tilts her head. “Well, _almost_ nobody.”

Hunter walks up to them, his hands tucked in his back pockets. “You’re lucky pub quiz got cancelled today.”

Bobbi rolls her eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He was in the car before Coulson even hung up. We wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

“I can’t believe—” Fitz shakes his head, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Time to head to the city,” May chimes in, smiling contently.

Bobbi turns around and heads to the car. “Marriage license bureau is open ‘til midnight. We have plenty of time.”

“And _I_ took the liberty of finding the perfect hotel for the night! That is the first fancy hotel that still had their honeymoon suite available. Had plenty of time calling places while sweating my royal arse of waiting for your precious arrival! In case you haven’t noticed, Vegas is literally built on the bloody sun and it’s the end of July!” Hunter adds, grinning widely.

* * *

They’re gathered in the entrance area of the small wedding chapel, waiting for the current ceremony to finish.

Jemma’s eyes dart nervously around the room. Photographs of happy couples are lined up on the walls. Everything seems to sparkle in red and pink: hearts, flowers, balloons. Las Vegas cliché at its best… or worst?

It seems surreal.

Her hand clings to Fitz’s, who seems to have as much of a hard time believing everything that had happened in the last few hours.

“There wasn’t a _ton_ of time for preparations obviously,” Bobbi interrupts Jemma’s thoughts.

Both her and Fitz turn around to face their friends who’d been forced into exile only to reappear on a day when Fitz and Jemma needed it most.

“Sooo… we decided that _we_ ’ll be both your something old _and_ —as your witnesses—your something borrowed.” Hunter grins sheepishly, pointing with both thumbs at himself.

“And we also made sure to get you something new _and_ blue.” Bobbi pulls a blue plastic zip-lock bag from her back pocket. “‘Cause B is for blue is for biological. You two _never_ let me forget that.”

Jemma chuckles, then covers her mouth, fighting back tears.

“Although, we kinda went against your rules today,” Bobbi admits. “We needed something for the rings.”

“Oh, the rings!” Jemma exclaims, tugging on Fitz’s hand whose eyes grow twice in size.

“Come on.” May crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You put _me_ in charge of guarding your rings two weeks ago, remember? You _really_ think I’d forget to bring them?”

“Oh Agent May.” Jemma tilts her head, sniffling quietly.

May rolls her eyes. “How about you call me Melinda for the rest of the day?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I can do that.” Fitz shakes his head. “You still kinda scare me.”

May chuckles quietly.

“I agree.” Jemma adds. “It somehow wouldn’t feel right.”

May shakes her head, but the corner of her mouth quirks into a smile. “Fine. Suit yourselves.”

* * *

The restaurant is almost empty. The lunch crowd having long left and the evening crowd not quite arrived.

“Best burgers in town!” Hunter exclaims, rubbing his hands excitedly before opening the large menu.

Jemma smiles shyly, glancing over at Fitz who looks back at her. His eyes seem to mirror the happiness she feels inside.

She lets her eyes drift to her wedding ring, the simple white gold band they had chosen, the two engraved stars adorning it, one for each of them, two universes that had merged, became one, inseparable.

_Except less than forty hours from now…_

Jemma feels her eyes well up. She closes them, taking a deep breath, trying to shake away her dark thoughts.

_Not now. Not yet._

She opens her eyes and looks up when she feels Fitz gently squeezing her hand. His blue eyes are soft and warm and comforting, and a smile is playing on his lips.

_I’m right here_ , he seems to be saying.

Jemma feels her heartbeat slow down, her mind relax.

He was here.

Now.

It was all that mattered.

She smiles and focuses back on the menu in front of her.

The atmosphere during their wedding reception—as Hunter insisted they call it—is a mix of grim reality and laughter.

Hunter and Bobbi catch them up on what had happened to them since they had fallen off the radar, _had to_ fall off the radar.

May in turn catches them up on what had happened with S.H.I.E.L.D., Lincoln, Hive, the Darkhold, the LMDs.

For the most part, Jemma and Fitz sit quietly, listening to their friends, their hands intertwined, their bodies close.

Little by little, funny anecdotes replace the more serious topics and the evening begins to feel lighter; like in the good ol’ times.

May glances at her watch once the laughter after an old story of herself and Coulson at the Academy comes to a close.

“Your car will be here in five. Time to say goodbye to these two.” She gestures at Hunter and Bobbi with her head.

“Our car?” Fitz asks confused.

Hunter clicks his tongue. “Wasn’t kidding about that honeymoon suite, mate!”

“But—”

“Simmons!” May interjects right away. “This is _your_ day. _Your_ night. I told you, you two deserve to take that step. Honeymoon is part of that. That’s an order!” 

Jemma chuckles quietly. “Well, _technically_ , I still have a higher clearance level than—”

“Don’t argue with her,” Fitz whispers in her ear and Jemma can’t help but smile.

“Listen to him!” May gestures towards the door with her head. “Driver knows where to take you. Meet me in the hotel lobby tomorrow at 0800. I wish I could give you more than that, but—for now—that’ll have to be enough.”

Jemma and Fitz nod and slowly, everyone gets up from their chairs.

Jemma looks at Hunter and Bobbi and feels her throat closing up, feels a familiar fist clenching down on her heart. Her lips twitch, trying to force a smile, trying to maintain the light atmosphere they had created. But her eyes are welling up and she feels her energy draining.

Fitz squeezes her hand a little tighter and when she glances up at him, she knows he’s feeling the same. They had said goodbye to them before. They couldn’t bear the thought of doing it again.

“Hey,” Bobbi interrupts Jemma’s thoughts. Her eyes shimmer behind a thin curtain of tears, but her smile is warm and confident. “Cut it out. No tears. We’ve done this before. Turns out it wasn’t a goodbye forever last time. No reason to believe it’ll be one this time around.”

Jemma nods, pressing her lips into a thin line, trying to honor their friend’s request.

Bobbi pulls Jemma into a tight hug. “Congratulations, Mrs. Fitzsimmons!”

Jemma smiles and nods unable to say anything in return.

She turns her head and sees Fitz, who looks a tad awkward, being bear-hugged by Hunter.

“Welcome to the club of men married to badass, mighty-fine women, mate! There’s nothing like it!” Hunter slaps Fitz’s shoulders and Fitz lets out a quiet laugh before looking at Jemma.

“Time to go!” May reminds them.

Jemma and Fitz nod.

They head towards the door, but are unable to resist the urge to look back one last time.

May, Hunter, and Bobbi are back at the table, each with a beer in hand and laughing happily.

* * *

Jemma stares outside into the sea of blinking neon lights. The sun had set, but it wasn’t fully dark yet. Not that it would ever be fully dark in this city.

Her lips pull into a smile when Fitz places his arms around her waist, drawing her closer against his body. It’s like a reflex. The simplest touch, the mere _knowledge_ that he’s here with her, _alive_ , allows Jemma to relax, smile, feel happy.

She chuckles when his lips gently brush against her neck, tickling her sensitive skin. Instinctively, she tilts her head to grant him better access.

“Can’t believe what happened today,” he whispers, his breath on her neck sending an excited shiver through her body. Jemma closes her eyes.

“None of it,” Fitz adds.

Jemma opens her eyes and notices their reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She rests her arms on his, leaning back to eliminate whatever sliver of space remained between them.

His body radiates warmth, feels like a safe haven.

She’d always been proud of how strong she had become, how independent, how resilient.

But there was comfort in knowing that there was a place where she could let herself be vulnerable, where she could fall and be caught.

She stares at the image of themselves in the window, a see-through version of themselves.

A shiver runs down Jemma’s spine, making every hair on her body stand on edge. She twists to loosen his embrace and turns around to face him.

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself close.

Jemma presses her face against his chest, inhaling his scent, reminding herself of his presence, trying to shake off the looming reminder of how her safe haven could become nothing but a ghostly reflection, a ghostly memory less than thirty-seven hours from now.

Fitz strokes her hair and Jemma closes her eyes, feeling her body relax, her heart slow down as she listens to his, beating steadily in his chest.

“Not exactly how we’ve planned it,” Fitz whispers into her hair. “But definitely not something we’ll forget.”

Jemma chuckles sadly. She looks up, her lips twitching, caught between wanting to be happy that he’s with her, her best friend, her partner, her husband, and wanting to break down at the thought of being less than two days away from losing him.

“I still haven’t seen you in a kilt.” She’s not sure why of all the things she may never get to experience with him, this is the one she says aloud. It’s mundane and insignificant. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to voice.

Jemma sniffles, unable to stop a tear from rolling down her cheek.

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers slowly glide down her neck, curling around it, while his thumb reaches for her cheek to wipe away her tears.

“You will.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Believe me.”

Jemma looks into his eyes. They shimmer like the ocean on a windless day, serene and calm and deep as if it was holding the answers to the universe.

He brings his face closer. “I will fight the odds, Jemma. I will fight the odds, and I will fight my way back to you through time and space and the universe. Over and over again if I have to! Because I’ve _seen_ our future. I’ve _experienced_ it! And maybe it was an illusion back then, maybe it was programmed, but I’m _not_ giving up on that. I promise you, I will _never_ give up on that.” His hand gently massages her neck. “We’ve come so far, Jemma. We’ve made it through so much. We’ll make it through this!”

Jemma presses her lips into a thin line, blinking away more tears, fighting a battle against her emotions she fears she will lose. She exhales a shaky breath.

“Come back to me!”

She’s not sure if she says it out loud, but the gentle smile appearing on his lips is enough to tell her that he heard her either way.

She doesn’t let him reply out of fear that he’ll make a promise he won’t be able to keep.

She silences him with her lips. But when she feels his hands slide down to the small of her back, gliding under the hem of her shirt, pulling her closer; when she feels his tongue brushing against her lips; when she feels his urgency and love and passion, she knows he’s making that promise nonetheless.

And Jemma keeps her eyes closed, wanting to believe him, wanting this night, and the next, and forever.

They deserved to take that step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the idea for May helping Fitzsimmons elope when I thought about stories I could write for my Ghosts No One Knew universe. I told @AgentsofSuperwholocked about it ('cause she wrote [an adorable little drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7451404/chapters/21470282) that went in a similar direction) so she suggested I finally write down that head canon and this seemed like a good opportunity to do so :) [And I couldn't resist to bring back Bobbi & Hunter for my 100th fic!]


	2. 28 weeks after “Right Things Wrong”

It had been two weeks since Coulson had ordered them all to his office. Two weeks since he had briefed them on a new mission, a mission for which Fitz was indispensable, a mission that very much sounded like it would be a one-way-street.

It had been two weeks since Jemma had left Coulson’s office. Shell-shocked. Two weeks since she had stood next to Fitz, holding his hand, fighting back tears, trying to come to terms with the realization that their wedding and the future they had planned for themselves lay shattered before them.

It had been two weeks since May had taken them on a journey to an unknown location under the pretenses of another classified mission. Two weeks since the skyline of Las Vegas had come into view and May had revealed what their trip was really about.

It had been two weeks since they stood in a small wedding chapel with May and two friends by their sides, whom they thought they’d never see again. Two weeks since they had exchanged their vows to love each other ‘til the end.

It had been two weeks since they had held each other in a honeymoon suite in Vegas. Two weeks since Fitz had promised her to fight the odds and come back to her.

And it had been one week and two days since he had made true on his promise.

* * *

A cool but gentle breeze is blowing up Jemma’s veil and she hears the rain drizzling on the roof of the large open party tent that they had somehow managed to organize when it became clear that weather would not be on their side on their wedding day.

The sky is grey and the ground is wet.

But the grass shimmers alive in a lush green and his eyes shimmer alive in a mesmerizing blue.

He’s waiting at the end of the aisle, a smile playing on his lips.

Jemma inhales slowly, reminding her heart to keep beating at the sight of her fiancé in his kilt.

His right arm is in a cast.

That, the bruises on Daisy’s face, barely hidden behind a thick layer of make-up, and May’s absence are the only memories of the mission that had threatened to bring an end to their story.

“Smile for the patient,” Coulson’s voice interrupts Jemma’s thoughts, and Jemma smiles widely, pulling her father closer so that Coulson’s tablet can capture both of them.

“Ready to follow along on screen,” Jemma asks cheerfully, looking into the camera.

“Typical. I’m on bed rest with a goddamn bullet wound to my stomach and all that’s on TV is repeats,” May jokes.

Jemma chuckles. “Well, I suppose we should still see if we can top last time.”

May winks at her and Coulson retreats back to where he had scouted out the best location to give May a good view of the ceremony.

“Shall we, Dad,” Jemma whispers into her father’s ear.

He tilts his head. “It’s about time, I’d say.”

Jemma smiles and looks down the aisle to where her husband and their future are waiting.

It wasn’t the perfect wedding Jemma had imagined. It wasn’t exactly like they had planned it, but it was real, and it was happening (it already had happened once before), and it’s little imperfections made it perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you need Fitz in a kilt!


	3. 64 weeks after “Right Things Wrong”

It had been one year and almost three months since Fitz had left a perfect cottage in Perthshire behind in the Framework. One year and almost three months since he had admitted to Jemma that he’d been window-shopping for their perfect future home.

It had been almost nine months since May had quasi abducted them, had taken them to Las Vegas to elope. Almost nine months since they had become husband and wife in a way so different from what they had planned. Almost nine months since they had spent the night in a honeymoon suite overlooking the city, allowing their bodies rather than their words to speak, trying to forget for just a few hours that it could be the last night they’d ever spent together.

It had been a little over eight months since they had exchanged vows _again_ ; this time in front of all their friends and family in the Scottish countryside. It had been a little over eight months since he had made true on his promise and his bride had finally seen him in a kilt.

(It had been a little over eight months since Fitz had regretted giving in and wearing that bloody thing when the wind picked up and gave everyone a lot more to see than they had bargained for, ‘cause of course his mum had insisted he’d go regimental and why the bloody hell could he not say no to the women in his life?)

It had been six months since they had started scouting the Scottish housing market, five and a half since they had put in an offer on a house in Perthshire.

It had been five months since Coulson had accepted their resignation… with the mutual agreement that they would be available to S.H.I.E.L.D. as independent contractors and consultants on an ‘as needed’ basis.

It had been three months since their farewell party. Three months since—for maybe the first time in her life—May had failed to maintain her stoic appearance and had shed tears (of joy as she assured them) as she had hugged them goodbye. Three months since Daisy had given them her Hawaiian doll, telling them to find a good place for her in the bedroom Daisy demanded be permanently reserved for her (“‘Cause I’m gonna visit the fuck out of you!”).

It had been three months since one leg of their journey had ended and another had begun as they had stepped on an airplane headed for Glasgow to start their new life.

Except it didn’t feel like an end. They hadn’t locked the door to their past. They had stepped through, but left it open, allowing those aspects of their old lives they _wanted_ to keep to interact freely with what—or rather whom—they’d left behind.

Their cottage wasn’t quite what Fitz had imagined, not quite like the one he’d looked at online more than a year ago, not quite like the one he remembered living in with Jemma and their daughter, the one that had been nothing but an illusion.

It was smaller than he’d hoped for. Some of the interior had been horrendous. It needed repairs. The stairs creaked a little.

But everyone had worked together to fix it up.

It wasn’t quite what he’d imagined, but they had fallen in love with it immediately.

It had been converted from a former water mill dating from 1830. Some of the original winding gear was still present in the rafters of the living room and other original features had been preserved as well.

The view overlooking Loch Tay from their balcony was breathtaking, the sheltered garden serene and the ideal playground for Pygmy Puff and Darwin, the two dogs they had adopted almost the _second_ they had stepped foot on Scottish soil.

They had enough land to built a small lab disguised as a garage.

They had bedrooms to spare.

It wasn’t perfect but it was _theirs_ , their home, their safe haven.

It was the perfectly imperfect version of a dream Jemma had seen trapped on a distant planet on the far side of the universe.

It was the perfectly imperfect version of an illusion Fitz had experienced while his mind was trapped in a world so ideal and yet so wrong.

And it was where eleven weeks after moving in, Jemma woke Fitz before the crack of dawn.

* * *

“Fitz!”

It’s nothing but a quiet whisper accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

It takes him a moment to wake up.

He opens his eyes sleepily and sees Jemma standing next to the bed.

He shoots up when he notices the tears streaming down her face.

“Jemma?”

His heart is racing.

He scrambles to pull back the covers and gets out of bed, reaching for her arm, trying to comfort her, anxiety manifesting itself in every cell of his body.

Then he notices her smile and follows her gaze as she lowers her eyes to her hands.

He takes the thin white plastic object she’s holding and tears shoot to his eyes when he sees the two faint pink lines.

He looks up.

Jemma’s eyes are shimmering with tears and beaming with joy and the sight conjures a smile onto his lips.

“Are you ready for this?” she whispers.

Fitz swallows hard and nods. “Hell yes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read most of my fics: Did you really think I'd write my 100th fic without bringing up Pygmy Puff and Darwin?
> 
> No I did not model this on [an actual house in Perthshire](http://www.rightmove.co.uk/property-for-sale/property-31038918.html). What makes you think that? What makes you think I'd spend an hour on real estate websites? Who would do such a thing just for the sake of fanfic research?


	4. 100 weeks after “Right Things Wrong”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself for Christmas mention.

It had been almost two years since Fitz had laid down a perfect swaddled baby girl in a crib in a perfect cottage in Perthshire. Almost two years since he had stepped up to his perfect wife and told her that he knew everything around him was an illusion. Almost two years since Daisy and Jemma had freed him and their friends from a perfect virtual world.

It had been almost two years since Fitz had told Jemma that _that_ world had been _too_ perfect and that their imperfections were a part of them, integral, defining, perfect in their own right.

It had been seventeen months since another dangerous mission had threatened to bring their story to an early end. Seventeen months since they had joined in matrimony with Bobbi and Hunter as their witnesses and May as their only guest.

It had been sixteen and a half months since May had watched them repeat their vows in front of family and friends via Coulson’s tablet as she recovered from a bullet wound to the stomach (miraculously the only severe injury that had occurred during what they had thought might become a suicide mission).

It had been less than a year since they had moved to Perthshire; not to the perfect cottage Fitz had seen in the Framework, but one even more perfect despite its imperfections.

And it had been eight months and ten days since Jemma had woken Fitz to show him two faint pink lines that would change their lives forever.

* * *

“Nothing new, mum. Everything is perfectly fine. Yes. I promise. We will see you tonight.” Slightly agitated, Jemma hangs up. Her hand glides over her large belly. “Oh, Monkeybutt, your grandmother is starting to drive me insane.”

“She checked in _again_?” Fitz asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes, she did.” Jemma groans, stemming her hands in the small of her back to counteract her lower back pain.

Fitz walks over to Jemma and wraps his arms around his wife, kissing the top of her head. “Sorry, Jemma. She means well. She’s excited.”

“I know,” Jemma says quietly. “But it’s not going to make Monkeybutt come any faster. And it’s not like she won’t see us in like two hours!”

Her hand instinctively reaches for her stomach when it suddenly tenses up.

_Braxton Hicks again_ , Jemma thinks, taking a slow deep breath.

* * *

A few hours later, Jemma, Fitz, and Daisy arrive at the cottage that Jemma’s parents had rented for themselves and Fitz’s mum, to avoid crowding the soon-to-be-parents in their small home.

Daisy was the only one staying with Fitzsimmons, ready to take over dogsitting duties in case of Monkeybutt’s arrival.

Coulson, May, Mack, and Elena had rented another cottage close by. Their van was already parked in front of the house.

The whiff of dinner Jemma catches when she enters the cottage makes her mouth water. Hers and Fitz’s mum had offered to prepare the special Christmas Eve celebration and judging by the smell, they had outdone themselves.

Jemma takes a step into the large living room and marvels at the Christmas tree her dad had set up.

She smiles when she sees their friends and former colleagues mingle by the fireplace and follows Daisy and Fitz to greet them.

* * *

Just as Jemma had suspected, the food is nothing but extraordinary and it’s a lovely evening… if it weren’t for the mild contractions.

Jemma glances at her smart watch, tapping the timer to see how long it has been since the last one.

Not that she’s sure they’re even contractions. Most feel like nothing more than a gentle tightening of her stomach.

_Braxton Hicks_ , she reminds herself.

She’d had them for weeks. Except tonight they seemed to be particularly frequent.

_Maybe you’ve eaten too much._

Jemma feels lucky that her mother is sitting next to her and not one of her former spy colleagues, who would certainly have noticed and become suspicious of the constant use of her watch.

Her hand reaches for Fitz’s knee, which is anxiously jiggling under the table.

She leans over and whispers as quietly as possible. “Relax. I still think it’s false alarm. They’re so weak, short, irregular, and far apart.”

Fitz’s leg stops wiggling, but Jemma can feel the muscles in his thigh tense up instead. She chuckles quietly, knowing that he’s forcing himself to appear calm.

* * *

When they return to their cottage a few hours later, the contractions have subsided almost completely.

_As suspected! False alarm_ , Jemma thinks as she gets ready for bed.

She wakes up a few hours later.

_Maybe **not** false alarm._

She wakes Fitz when the contractions get stronger.

They try to be quiet, but moments after Fitz manages to knock over the coatrack, a sleepy Daisy appears by their bedroom door.

“You guys all good here?” she mumbles, suppressing a yawn.

Jemma glances at Fitz, who nods barely noticeably.

“Well. It looks like this is not a drill,” Jemma replies, rubbing her hand over her stomach when she feels another contraction.

Daisy’s eyes double in size. “Holy shit!”

* * *

They wait.

Pass the time.

Time the contractions.

5-1-1.

Contractions five minutes apart, one minute long, over one hour.

That’s when you head to the hospital.

That’s the rule they’d been given and Jemma is determined to follow the rules.

Preparation is key and she excelled at preparation!

Except the contractions don’t get regular. They’re half a minute long, five minutes apart; then a minute long, ten minutes apart.

Jemma decides to take a bath, hoping the warm water will help the contractions get more regular, but half an hour later, with contractions still irregular but definitely increasing in intensity, Jemma lets out a deep groan.

“Okay. That’s it, call the coach, we’re heading to the birthing center.” Her fingers only reluctantly release the grip on the brim of the tub even after the pain has subsided.

“You sure?” Fitz asks, nervously massaging the palm of his hand.

“Yes, I’m sure! I can’t take it anymore. I want a bloody midwife to examine my bloody cervix because I sure as hell won’t do it myself and I sure as hell won’t let _you_ do it either!” Jemma wishes her voice didn’t sound so harsh, but—dammit— _she_ was the women in labor. This was her call! She was the boss!

Daisy looks up from where she’s sitting on the floor. “Wasn’t gonna volunteer anyways!”

“Wasn’t talking to you, Daisy!” Jemma growls through her teeth.

Fitz moves a bit closer to the tub, gently squeezing Jemma’s hand. “And you’re _absolutely_ sure about your choice of coach? You don’t want Daisy—?”

“We’ve been over this! Daisy would be _far_ too excited!” Jemma interrupts him. “It’s enough that _you’re_ a nervous wreck, Fitz. And I don’t blame you, but I need someone who can keep their calm. _Daisy_ stays with the dogs. _May_ will be my coach!”

“It’s just—”

“Leopold Fitz! I know the woman scares you, but I’m about to push a human being out of my vagina and I want May there as my coach! We both know there’s nobody better suited for this position than her!”

“Right. Right. I’m sorry. I—” Fitz nods, his eyes looking at her apologetically. “I love you!”

Jemma smiles and reassuringly covers his hand with hers.

“Okay, so, now that that’s settled—and by the way thanks for not making me be in the delivery room, Jemma, because honestly, I don’t want to—but anyways, maybe _now_ it’s time to get you out of the tub and into the car!” Daisy gestures over her shoulder towards the bathroom door with her thumbs, grinning encouragingly.

* * *

“I _swear_ if you get us into an accident, I’m going to bloody kill you, Fitz!” Jemma growls through a contraction as Fitz takes a sharp right turn in Aberfeldy onto A826.

But Fitz ignores any and all of her threats as he speeds down deserted country roads and A9 towards Perth.

They arrive at Perth Royal Infirmary less than an hour after they had left their cottage. Fitz had cut off a good ten minutes of the estimated driving time.

Jemma leans onto their four-wheeled rolling suitcase for support, groaning as she forces herself forward step by step towards the building, while Fitz carries everything else they’d thought they’d need.

May’s already waiting by the entrance, eying them questioningly. “What’s with the luggage? You plan on moving here?”

“Extra clothes for us, clothes for the baby, nursing pillow, tablets for music and videos, speakers, things to pass the time, games, books, small blanket that Daisy can take back to Pygmy Puff and Darwin with the baby’s smell to get them used to—” Jemma rattles down her carefully prepared checklist.

“Ugh!” she exclaims and clings to the handle of the suitcase when another contraction hits her.

“Alright,” May interrupts. “Let’s get you in and up to the first floor to the Midwife Unit.” She puts one arm around Jemma’s waist and grabs her elbow for additional support, allowing Jemma to continue to lean on the suitcase.

“ _You_ ,” May adds, turning back to look at Fitz, who’s white like a sheet and looks like he’ll pass out and drop everything he’s carrying any moment now. “Take a deep breath, don’t pass out, don’t throw up, and follow us.”

Fitz nods shyly.

Jemma had it all planned. Their birth plan had been three pages long, with various options for techniques she wanted to try, acupressure, foot massage, birthing ball, birthing tub, herbal scents.

They had brought books, crossword puzzles, _Doctor Who_ episodes on their tablets to pass the hours until their baby would be born.

But when the midwife announces that Jemma’s already seven centimeters dilated upon arrival, most of the plan goes out the window.

“Oh thank god, that means you’re not going to send us back home,” Jemma exclaims in relief.

The midwife chuckles. “Love, I’ll send you straight to the birthing pool! You’d wanted a water birth, didn’t ya’?”

Jemma nods.

May and Fitz help her undress and guide her to the large tub, helping her up the stairs and into the pool.

Jemma immediately feels lighter, feels her body relax, feels the pain of each contraction lessen as the warm water surrounds her.

The lights in the room are dimmed and Jemma closes her eyes, listening to the quiet music Fitz had put on, a playlist of her favorite songs.

She refuses to leave the tub again (only begrudgingly agrees to it at some point to allow the midwife to exchange the water).

They had discussed so many relaxation and breathing techniques with May, so many things that May should talk to Jemma about during the birth, so many things to remind her of, to help her stay focused.

But once the contractions grow in intensity, once she begins to feel the urge to push, all Jemma asks for is to hold May’s hand on one side and Fitz’s on the other.

The birth itself goes surprisingly smooth, and only five hours after arriving at the birthing center, the midwife helps Jemma grab her baby and pull it out of the water and onto her chest.

It’s a girl, and for a moment the world around Jemma disappears and all that’s left is her and her infant daughter.

Then she looks to her left, where Fitz is smiling widely, tears and pride in his eyes. He’s leaning as close to her and their daughter as he can without falling into the tub himself.

Jemma looks to the right, where May is sitting, smiling proudly.

“Well done, Simmons,” she says quietly.

“Well, Dad, wanna do the honors?” Expectantly, the midwife tries to hand Fitz a pair of surgical scissors, who stares back at her wide-eyed as if she was trying to hand him a ticking bomb.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma rolls her eyes and laughs quietly. “I’ll do it!”

“Well then,” the woman replies and hands Jemma the tool.

The midwife begins to drain the tub. Carefully, she places a small hat onto the infant’s head and takes the baby from Jemma’s arms, wrapping it into a blanket.

She walks up to Fitz and stretches out her arms, smiling encouragingly. “This part should be a lot harder to resist.”

Jemma smiles as she watches her husband accept the bundle of new life with trembling hands.

Fitz has tears in his eyes as he holds their daughter for the first time and Jemma can’t help but well up when she sees the love he feels for the precious gift they’d created.

“Let’s get you out of the tub and into the bed,” May’s quiet voice interrupts Jemma’s thoughts, and gratefully, Jemma accepts May’s hand and the midwife’s support to climb out of the tub and walk to the bed on shaking legs.

* * *

The rest of the day becomes a blur of visits by their families and friends. They joke that the baby had timed it just perfectly since everyone had been around to celebrate Christmas together and no one had missed the joyous event.

“I don’t even give a fuck about Christmas anymore!” Daisy cradles the baby in her arms, looking at her godchild adoringly. “It’ll be the day to celebrate her birthday and nothing else from here on out!”

“Well,” Jemma interjects, “I’m sure we’ll find a way to celebrate both.”

But secretly, she agrees. She had been given the best Christmas present she could ever have asked for. She’d never have a need for Christmas again. But she’d always celebrate the day that her daughter was born.

“So, what’s her name?” Coulson asks curiously.

“Teresa.” Fitz says proudly, sitting next to Jemma on the bed, one arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll call her Tessa.”

Jemma notices her mother gently squeezing her father’s hand as his eyes light up at the mention of his mother’s name.

It wasn’t the birth Jemma had imagined. It wasn’t the day they had imagined.

It was better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, yes, so... see... my head canon is that Fitzsimmons' (first) kid will be born Christmas Day... 'cause my daughter is born Christmas Day and that head canon just happened and I realize that it's a bit "out-of-season" but I have to keep that head canon... basically... this entire chapter is kinda my daughter's birth story :D
> 
> No, I did *not* spend an hour researching hospitals in Perthshire to try and figure out where the closest [birthing center](http://www.birthinperth.scot.nhs.uk) would be that would offer a water birth option. I did not try to figure out if she could give birth at one of the community hospitals instead that would be closer to the cottage (that's definitely not based on an actual cottage). I did *not* watch the introductory video on the website of the birthing center to figure out the layout of the place. And, no, I did *not* [map the fastest route](https://www.google.is/maps/dir/Ben+Lawers+Hotel,+Aberfeldy+PH15+2PA,+UK/Perth+Royal+Infirmary,+Taymount+Terrace,+Perth+PH1+1NX,+UK/@56.6184893,-4.4519507,8.94z/am=t/data=!4m14!4m13!1m5!1m1!1s0x4888bfacf63726a9:0x74466433fb98b6ac!2m2!1d-4.1517812!2d56.5290661!1m5!1m1!1s0x48863b39f0d17641:0x37d4f9121221b75c!2m2!1d-3.4532697!2d56.3961203!3e0?hl=en) from the hotel next to the cottage (that is not based on a real one) to the Midwife Unit (which I did not research). What makes you think all that? Do you think I'm insane or something?


	5. Epilogue: 100+ weeks after “Right Things Wrong”

Tessa was perfect.

She was perfect even when she screamed.

She was perfect even when she woke them every two hours during the night.

She was perfect even when she went through a phase of cluster feeding and Jemma felt like she would never have her breasts to herself (or at Fitz’s disposal).

Tessa was perfect.

She had Fitz’s blue eyes and Jemma’s smile and Fitz’s curls and Jemma’s strong will.

She didn’t come close to the phantasy that AIDA had created.

She exceeded that phantasy in every possible way.

In fact, every nuance of their life together—painful, joyful and in between—had exceeded the phantasy AIDA had created, had exceeded even their wildest dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for celebrating my 100th fic with me (by reading it :) ).
> 
> Comments always greatly appreciated!


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